To Pity A Phoenix
by CaptainTsukiko
Summary: Emotion is the ultimate drug of human diversity.


Wind played around with your hair. The moon glowed on the water. And absentminded, you dislodged a piece of black strand stuck by your mouth. The salty breeze tickled at your nose. It carried the faint smell of smoke. Probably from Mikhail Arbatovs cigs, you thought.

Your hand was on the cool railing that burnt your skin. You could hear faint footfalls behind you. By then, the wind had stopped, the brief glint of relaxation was sapped from your body and you were sure your hair was a tangled mess. Tao would regard this as his personal hell, you mused.

The little ship that carried Asami Ryuichi and Takaba was becoming fainter by the second. The moon glowed on it, creating a spotlight over the ship. And your hand tightened on the silk of your cheongsam. Red. Red. _Red._ Silk like the blood you had wanted to spill tonight.

Soft sounds of a boot clicking against the deck, then they stopped behind you. Quiet and not so quiet as Yoh had always been. But not anymore.

Your breath left you in staccato puffs and you suddenly noticed that your chest was tight. With emotions. Emotions, the master of your body. The slave to your body and the forbidden fruit of all rulers. But you're no ruler now, are you? You had the chance to seize your throne—but you didn't. Emotions, that's what stopped you from clicking that trigger and ending it all. You wanted to get angry, but tiredness wighted down your strength. And you sighed. Stale air, you could taste on your tongue.

Takaba, that boy. Bright as sun, wasn't he? You asked yourself that, over and over until a soft, barely audible groan left you. Said sound was broken. your throat felt gagged and dry. There was a brief hint of warmth, bubbling up inside of you, mixed with tendrils of dread and shock.

That was a moment full of silence. Neither Yoh or you was willing to speak first. The screams of wind - like last complaints of those long dead, dominated your head. And your hand was tight on the railing at the sudden voice, clutching at it like a lifeline.

"Master Feilong." Yoh spoke, all waves of calmness and closed hurt.

And you closed your eyes.

 _So it ends,_ you thought as your nails dug into your palms.

* * *

Takaba clutched the cushion tighter. There was a ball in his throat, rising up like bile as Asami gently wrapped bandage around his waist. Said bandages felt rough against his skin and he felt sudden cold in his toes.

Asami dabbed a cotton full of disinfectant at his forehead, and Takaba winced from the sharp pain. He licked his chapped lips, "You want water?" Takaba blinked, the question not fully settling in his mind.

"...Do you want water?" Asami asked yet again.

"Ah-Yes!" Takaba replied far too fast, much too fast for his own liking. And as a result, the bandage around his neck moved and the wound sizzled, sending him up in coughs. Tears spring into his eyes as he accepted the glass full of water. Takaba sighed, his eyes already red and hazy. His hand tightened on his shorts as he glanced at Asamis wound as said man wrapped it up.

Men like him were used to being shot, he told himself. You don't need to think about it. He's just like iron, he told himself. But nothing could stop his stomach from churning at the sight of that purple, flaky, bloody wound. The hole gaped at him, as if saying, "I'm here, because of you."

The hunky one of Asamis guards applied liquid pain by a cotton ball. Must hurt, he thought. But unlike him, Asami neither winced, or acted any more actively.

Takabas eyes softened, the air conditioner felt like knives lodged on his legs. Takabas head ached, wounds fucking hurt. But he felt it all and he didn't. He favoured the more bleak of his thoughts:

 _This is all your fault. You're a nuisance. You're useless._

But he couldn't all well be that useless! He'll protect him, he'll return the favour. Just the favour. Just the feelings. Just the.. dare he say it, care. If that was his only way in and out. He would do it, just...

Takaba glanced at Asami, his hands itching for a camera.

Just for him.

* * *

After note: 

Response to the guest who left this review in 'Size Of A Beast.'

"A well-meant advice: Forget about trying to be funny or humorous. You are miles off the target, with this one as well as with the Cola vs Pepsi one. There is no point to these stories and they are not funny or humorous. As a reader you literally sit here thinking: "So he tried his shoes on. And?" The situation isn't humourous, it's pointless. You have to know how to write funny in order to be funny and sorry, but this isn't it. If anything, it sounds like a 12-year-old trying to tell a story. It's all just very childish."

Thank you for assessing my story and critiquing it. I appreciate it :D

Thank you, to all readers who gave this story a try.


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